


It's Only Natural

by Angels_Heap



Category: Half-Life
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Pining, Pre-Canon, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Very Subtle Angst if You Squint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24238882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angels_Heap/pseuds/Angels_Heap
Summary: There's a lot to be said for living and working in the same giant underground research facility as the love of your life, but sometimes, the strict dress code can be a real bummer.(Alternate title: Five times Barney saw Gordon out of uniform and didn't know how to handle it, and one time Gordon's outfit didn't matter at all.)ON INDEFINITE HIATUS AS OF JULY 4, 2020.
Relationships: Barney Calhoun/Gordon Freeman
Comments: 144
Kudos: 412





	1. June 1, 2002

Heavy, shuffling footsteps echoed off the checkered floors and drab white walls of Black Mesa’s Sector C office complex as Barney Calhoun trudged up and down its eerily silent, dimly lit corridors.

Every now and then, he stopped to peer into the window of a dark, unoccupied office or scrutinize a random piece of hardware. On the off chance the security cameras were watching, he figured he ought to at least _pretend_ to be doing something useful.

Barney wasn’t sure who he’d pissed off to get assigned a weekend shift in the least interesting part of the facility, nor did he really understand why the Black Mesa Security Force saw fit to patrol offices after-hours in the first place. Why couldn’t he just sit in a booth and pretend to watch the security feed for eight hours, instead of being forced to pace around a bunch of empty hallways like an under-stimulated lab rat?

He paused and glanced at his watch. Six hours down; two to go. He could do this. Just two more hours, and then he’d be a free man until Monday morning.

With a sigh, Barney dragged himself around yet another corner, and promptly stopped dead in his tracks as he registered a faint glow of light spilling into the hallway from one of the nearby offices.

That wasn’t alarming, in and of itself. Some scientists were known to come in on weekends because they couldn’t bear to be separated from their precious research for a whole forty-eight hours, and Barney had already crossed paths with a couple of janitors.

What put him on edge, though, was the fact that the hallway was still completely _silent._ Usually, folks who came in to work over the weekend made a ton of racket and acted like they owned the damn place, but this time, nobody was blaring annoying music, or chewing unnecessarily loudly, or ranting and raving about grant funding… 

Slowly, Barney crept towards the occupied office, one hand hovering over his holster. He wasn’t really sure what he expected to find, but he was suddenly acutely aware that he’d never actually been trained to handle this scenario.

What if someone had broken in to steal classified research? What exactly was the protocol for that?

Hell if he knew.

Barney raised a fist and rapped on the door, just below the empty corkboard that offered no clues as to whose office this was. In response, he heard a loud _thud_ and some muffled swearing, but whoever was inside didn’t directly acknowledge his presence.

Heart pounding, Barney flung the door open and darted into the room. The motion sent several sheets of paper flying, as haphazard piles of loose files covered nearly every square inch of the small office. The intruder was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, clad in jeans and a long-sleeved red checkered shirt, and his face was hidden behind several open file cabinet drawers.

Whoever he was, he wasn’t dressed like a scientist… but then again, Barney figured a dangerous intruder probably would’ve worn something a little less flashy. He let go of the holster at his hip and tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for an explanation.

The seated figure cautiously slid the drawers shut one by one, and then looked up at him with an expression of surprise and mild alarm. After a couple of long, awkward seconds, Barney realized he recognized the scientist responsible for the chaos.

He’d never seen him with his hair down, but between the glasses and the freckles and the goatee, there was no mistaking the new guy from Anomalous Materials—Freeman, if he remembered correctly.

Barney had heard Freeman was fresh out of some snooty grad school and had already developed a reputation for being kind of standoffish, but that was hardly surprising. Being a bit of a dick was practically a prerequisite for employment at Black Mesa, and hey, two could play at that game.

He crossed his arms and puffed out his chest. “You mind tellin’ me what you’re up to here, Dr. Freeman?” he asked. Sure, it was kind of immature, but he couldn’t resist the temptation to try to intimidate the guy, just a little. He was probably still too new to know that security guards had almost no real authority. 

Dr. Freeman didn’t seem quite willing to make eye contact as he nervously responded, “Am I… am I not allowed to be here? The guard at the main entrance let me in and said it was fine that—well, I didn’t have a chance to finish some work from Friday and I was told I needed to have it done by Monday, so I thought I’d come in and do it today, but if I’m not allowed in the office on Saturday then that’s fine and I’m sorry for the inconvenience and I guess I can, um…”

He trailed off and glanced around the room, eyes going wide with undisguised panic as he appeared to realize just how much of a mess he’d made in his office and how long it would take him to clean it up if Barney kicked him out.

The poor guy looked so distressed that Barney couldn’t help but feel a little bad for scaring him. He also needed to tread carefully, moving forward. The _last_ thing he needed when he was up for a promotion was for Dr. Freeman to lodge a complaint against him.

“Hey, nah, it’s fine,” he reassured him, in a much more pleasant tone than before. “Far as I know, there’s no rule against scientists workin’ weekends. I mean, most folks don’t, but…” He shrugged. “You do what you gotta do, I guess.”

Much to his relief, his words seemed to put Dr. Freeman at ease. He visibly relaxed, flashed a grateful smile, and then turned his attention back to the closest pile of papers as if he expected Barney to simply leave him to it without another word.

Barney still had questions, though. He leaned against the open door and un-crossed his arms in an effort to seem less threatening.

“Before I go, I gotta ask—when’d you sneak in here?” When Dr. Freeman didn’t answer, he added, “I’m sorry for bargin’ in on ya, but I didn’t hear anyone come in and I had to investigate, y’know?”

Dr. Freeman looked at his watch and then turned back to face him. “I think I got here about… forty minutes ago? I guess I could’ve turned on some more lights. I didn’t… uh, I didn’t realize how suspicious this must look.” He chuckled sheepishly. “I apologize if I inadvertently gave you a heart attack, Officer, uh…”

“Calhoun,” Barney supplied, to save him having to squint at his name badge from halfway across the room. “And like I said, it’s fine. Not your fault I was a little jumpy.” He decided it couldn’t hurt to take the blame for the misunderstanding, just to be safe.

Without thinking, he grimaced and added, “Weekends in this place are just kinda, eh…”

“Long and excruciatingly boring?” Dr. Freeman suggested, with just a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Against his better judgment, Barney nodded. “You said it, not me.”

His deadpan delivery elicited another chuckle from Dr. Freeman. He had a nice laugh, Barney noted—friendly, not too loud, and kind of low and rumbly.

“How much longer are you on the clock?” Dr. Freeman asked.

Barney quirked an eyebrow and checked his watch. “‘Bout another hour and forty-five. Why?”

“I’m getting the impression that there’s not much else going on in the office this afternoon and you look like you could use a break, so, um…” Dr. Freeman paused and glanced around the room again, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not he should finish that thought.

After another beat or two of silent deliberation, he finally continued, “Well, I don’t know the rules, but… some of these documents _are_ top-secret, and I wouldn’t exactly object to having a little extra security.” 

Barney fought to keep his expression neutral as he considered the possible implications behind Dr. Freeman’s offer that he’d so cleverly disguised as a request.

Was he trying to trick him into abandoning his post so he could try to get him fired later? That wasn’t out of the question, he supposed, although it wasn’t like the offer was coming from Dr. Magnusson or anyone else Barney knew was out to get him.

So, that meant it was possible that the guy really was just trying to do him a favor by giving him an excuse to sit down for a few minutes… and he wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“Well…” Barney said, dragging out the word to stall for time while he weighed his options, “I s’ppose the boss wouldn’t want me to leave you alone in here if you don’t feel safe. It’s my job to protect company assets, right? So… yeah, if you insist, I’d be happy to stick around for a few.”

He shifted his weight and exhaled slowly as he prayed that he’d made the right decision. “You sure you don’t mind?”

Dr. Freeman shook his head and smiled. “Not at all. Grab a chair if you want one.”

Barney took a tentative step forward and froze when he heard a sharp intake of breath.

 _“Carefully,”_ Dr. Freeman clarified, with an unnecessary gesture towards the piles of paper between the doorway and his desk. By some miracle, Barney managed to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

It only took him a few minutes to strategically retrieve Dr. Freeman’s desk chair from the other side of the wall of papers and reposition it in the open doorway. He closed his eyes and swallowed what would’ve been a very embarrassing moan as flopped down into the plush leather seat.

 _Damn,_ it felt nice to finally sit down after so many hours on his feet.

By the time he opened his eyes, Dr. Freeman had completely lost himself in his sorting task once again. Almost robotically, he divided the large piles of documents—mostly laboratory readouts and handwritten notes, from what Barney could tell—into smaller piles and re-filed them in hanging Pendaflex folders. Whatever system he’d devised seemed to be quite effective, and it wasn’t long before patches of ugly green carpet began to show through the sea of papers.

As he watched him work, Barney was struck by just how just how _young_ Dr. Freeman was. Any scientists under the age of forty stood out like a sore thumb at Black Mesa, of course, but this guy didn’t look like he’d even hit _thirty_ yet. Was he some kind of child prodigy, Barney wondered, or was he just really baby-faced under the goatee and glasses?

Barney also couldn’t help but notice that Dr. Freeman was cute, too. _Really_ cute. His casual, sort of outdoorsy outfit looked awfully out of place in an office environment, but the clothes seemed to suit him, and Barney found himself utterly transfixed every time the young scientist brushed his long auburn hair out of his face or readjusted his glasses or bit his lip in concentration…

Oh, God, he was staring. How long had he been staring? _Shit._

“Anythin’ I can do to help?” Barney asked, suddenly eager for some kind of distraction— _any_ kind of distraction—from the strange but not entirely unwelcome fluttering in his stomach.

Dr. Freeman visibly startled, suggesting that he had completely forgotten he wasn’t alone, but he recovered quickly. “It’s… probably best that you not,” he responded. “Like I said, I’m pretty sure a lot of this isn’t public information, and, well…” He affected a truly _terrible_ Spanish accent and continued, “You seem a decent fellow. I’d hate to expose you to classified company secrets and then find out that I’m legally obligated to kill you.”

Barney recognized the reference in an instant and burst out laughing. So, Dr. Freeman had a sense of humor, then. “You seem a decent fellow,” he replied, right on cue. “I hate to die.”

Their shared laughter soon tapered off, and they lapsed into silence once again. Barney happened to idly glance at his watch and he was surprised to discover that almost half an hour had passed. He hadn’t planned to stay this long, and he felt torn.

On the one hand, his presence was probably distracting Dr. Freeman from his important work, and he knew he was technically supposed to be patrolling the entire area. On the other hand, though, he was certain he’d be able to defend his decision to stay in Dr. Freeman’s office to anyone who thought to question it, and… he didn’t really want to leave.

He glanced between Dr. Freeman and the open doorway a few times as he weighed his options again. Before he managed to make up his mind, his companion looked up from his work and interrupted Barney’s train of thought with a seemingly random question. 

“Do you like working here?” There was no judgment in Dr. Freeman’s tone, and his curiosity sounded genuine.

Barney thought for a few seconds before diplomatically responding, “Yeah, for the most part. It’s not my favorite job I’ve ever had, but it’s… pretty okay, y’know? Pay’s decent, hours are decent, sometimes I get to meet interesting people…”

Truthfully, he could count on one hand how many people he’d met in his two years at Black Mesa that he genuinely liked, but he knew better than to shit-talk his job in front of a scientist, no matter how cute and friendly he seemed. 

Dr. Freeman appeared to accept his answer, but instead of going back to sorting, he continued to stare at Barney with an expression he couldn’t quite read.

“How about you?” Barney asked, in an effort to break the strange tension that had taken hold in the room. “You’ve only been here a couple’a weeks, right? How’re you liking the job so far?”

“It’s… going well,” Dr. Freeman replied, echoing Barney’s earlier lukewarm tone. He was quick to compensate, however, and he sounded much more enthusiastic as he continued, “I’m so grateful to be working with Dr. Kleiner again, and the work we’re doing is… it’s _incredible,_ to say the least. I definitely wouldn’t have access to opportunities like this if I’d stayed in academia. I just, well…” He abruptly trailed off and folded his hands into his lap.

Barney could sense that the scientist wanted to say something more, but for the moment, all he could focus on was how _green_ Dr. Freeman’s eyes were. Even from across the room, they were striking, and he wanted nothing more than to get closer and just lose himself in—

Jesus _Christ,_ he mentally chided himself. Where the hell had that come from? 

He forced himself to abandon that train of thought and turned his attention back to Dr. Freeman, who was still staring straight ahead with a faraway look on his face.

“But?” Barney prompted.

Dr. Freeman looked surprised, and Barney wondered if he’d misread the situation. Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of a way to backtrack, so he had no choice but to double down.

“It seemed like there was somethin’ else you wanted to say, is all.” Despite his best efforts to speak naturally, his statement came out sounding more like a question. 

With a sigh, Dr. Freeman ran a hand through his hair—his incredibly soft-looking hair—and quietly asked, “Does it ever get less lonely, Officer Calhoun?”

“Barney,” he corrected instinctively. The formality just seemed jarring, all of a sudden. It took a second for the weight and vulnerability of Dr. Freeman’s question to fully register.

Personally, Barney had never really minded the relative isolation and anonymity that came with living and working as a practically second-class citizen in a giant underground bunker, but he knew it could be hell for some people. Even scientists, apparently.

“It does get better,” he answered honestly. “You settle into a routine, make a couple of friends, maybe find an excuse to get off the base every once in a while, so you don’t lose your mind down here…” He shrugged. “‘S not a bad situation, overall. Just takes some gettin’ used to.”

Dr. Freeman was quiet for a long moment, and then he chuckled, but it wasn’t the same warm sound Barney had already come to associate with him.

“God, you must think I’m a mess,” he said. He shook his head and sighed deeply. “Sorry, sorry… I’m sure keeping me company isn’t actually in your job description, and I feel like I should apologize for taking up so much of your time, but, um… thanks, Barney.”

Something about hearing Dr. Freeman say his name had Barney practically glowing, but at least externally, he managed to keep his cool. “Hey, seriously, I told you it’s fine. Honestly, I feel like I should be thankin’ _you_ for letting me hang out in here. Beats the hell out of walkin’ in circles and countin’ the floor tiles, that’s for sure.”

He laughed, in an attempt to lighten the mood, and then checked his watch again. He still had nearly an hour to go until his shift ended.

“I don’t wanna overstay my welcome,” he said, “but if you’re still up for company, I can stay for another fifty minutes or so. Up to you.”

“I’d like that,” Dr. Freeman replied with a smile, before he dropped his gaze to his lap and began methodically sorting papers again. Barney was pretty sure his new acquaintance was also blushing—and holy _shit,_ that was adorable—but he politely averted his gaze, just to be safe. He didn’t want to make Dr. Freeman feel self-conscious, lest he change his mind about wanting him to stay.

Barney swiveled around in his chair, propped his feet up on a nearby box, and removed his bulky helmet. He was already pretty comfortable, but he felt like he could get away with making himself at home at this point.

“So, Dr. Freeman, where are you from?” he asked, once he’d finished smoothing down his helmet hair.

“Gordon,” the scientist responded, instead of answering the question. He spoke tentatively, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not he’d crossed a line. “You don’t have to call me that if you don’t want to, I guess, but… I’m twenty-six. The honorific seems unnecessary in this context.”

Well, that admission answered a couple of Barney’s earlier questions: Dr. Freeman—Gordon?—almost _had_ to have been some kind of child prodigy to have hit so many career milestones so young, and damn, knowing that they were only a couple years apart in age made Barney _really_ second-guess what the hell he’d been doing with his twenty-four years of life.

He could reflect on that later, though. “Okay… Gordon, then,” he acquiesced, despite the inherent strangeness of addressing a scientist so casually. “Question still stands. I can tell just by lookin’ at you that you’re not from anywhere near New Mexico, and seriously, the suspense is killin’ me here.”

“I’m from Seattle,” Gordon replied with a soft chuckle. “Lived there my whole life until I moved to the East coast for college.”

“Ah, so that explains the whole lumberjack chic thing you’ve got goin’ on there, huh?”

Gordon grinned. “I didn’t think anyone would enforce the dress code on a Saturday, and I needed a change.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and added, “I don’t understand why we have to wear those ridiculous ties during the week.”

Barney tugged on his own ridiculous tie and rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it.”

“At least your uniform tie doesn’t have _stripes,”_ Gordon muttered. He placed a stack of papers into a folder and carefully hung it from the rails inside the filing cabinet before he spoke again. “Where did you grow up?”

“Southern Alabama,” Barney answered, a bit more curtly than he’d intended. “Small town you’ve probably never heard of that honestly doesn’t deserve to be on the map.”

Gordon didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, and Barney couldn’t hold that against him, seeing as it was entirely his fault that he’d let his guard down just a little too much and made things awkward.

Out of desperation to fill the silence, Barney continued, “I went to school in California, though. Moved around a lot right after I left”—he figured Gordon didn’t need to know that he hadn’t actually graduated—“and then worked odd jobs for a while until I ended up here, ‘bout… couple of years ago now, I guess.”

If Gordon was judging him for offering such a vague backstory, he didn’t let on. Instead, he asked a polite follow up question, and then another, and another as their conversation kept flowing naturally and the piles of papers scattered across Gordon’s office floor grew progressively smaller and smaller.

The longer they chatted, the more it became clear that Gordon wasn’t unfriendly or standoffish at all, despite what Barney’s colleagues seemed to think. He was just quiet, and maybe a little shy.

And cute. _So_ cute.

Barney took advantage of the next natural lull in the conversation to double-check that he hadn’t overstayed his welcome. “I’m not slowin’ you down by talkin’ your ear off here, am I?” he asked.

“Quite the opposite, actually,” Gordon replied, shaking his head. He was careful to keep his tone neutral as he elaborated, “To be honest… most of these documents are from twenty or thirty years ago, and they’re more-or-less in order already. It’s pretty mindless work, so it’s… it’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

Barney’s stomach dropped as the implications behind Gordon’s revelation started to sink in. Unless he was mistaken, it sounded like Gordon was only working on a Saturday because his supervisors had saddled him with a ridiculously menial, almost certainly non-urgent task with an impossible deadline, just for the hell of it.

But… _why?_

Of course, Barney had endured plenty of abuse and pettiness at the hands of the science team over the years, but he’d never known them to prey on one of their own. What was the point of hiring a 26-year-old whiz kid with two MIT degrees just to force him to do entry-level admin work on a fucking Saturday?

His heart went out to Gordon, but he knew better than to risk overstepping his bounds by telling him _exactly_ what he thought of his superiors. Instead, he decided to try and cheer Gordon up by smoothly changing the subject. 

“So, what exactly did you study at MIT, anyway?”

Unsurprisingly, Gordon took the bait, and time continued to fly by as he chattered excitedly about his PhD thesis while gradually clearing a path to the doorway. Apparently, he’d written about teleporting stuff through crystals, possibly with the aid of lasers—or something along those lines, anyway—and impressed a lot of very important people.

If he was being honest with himself, Barney only understood about every third word Gordon was saying, but he still would have been perfectly content to listen to him ramble on about theoretical physics forever.

Gordon was nearly kneeling at Barney’s feet—and God, what an image _that_ was—when Barney’s watch beeped, signaling that his shift was almost over. In an instant, Gordon fell silent, and the look of disappointment that flashed across his features somehow made Barney’s heart beat faster and sink at the same time. 

“Time to go clock out?” Gordon asked. He looked so much like a sad puppy that Barney almost would have laughed, if he himself hadn’t felt like an equally sad puppy.

Barney nodded. “Just about, yeah. Supervisor’ll be up my ass if I go more than a couple minutes over too, so I really gotta get going.”

He reluctantly slid out of the desk chair and carefully rolled it back to where he’d found it. Already, he could feel the gears turning in his head as he brainstormed ways to ‘accidentally’ cross paths with Gordon during his regular weekday shifts. He could drop by his office first thing in the morning, before Gordon went into the lab, or maybe he could ask to be switched to weekend shifts permanently if this was going to become a regular thing, or…

“Um, Barney?”

He whirled around at the sound of his name and found that Gordon had risen to his feet and was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room with his thumbs hooked into his pockets. Jesus, he was a lot _taller_ than Barney had initially thought, and surprisingly lean, with almost a runner’s build, and—oh, God, he was staring again.

If Gordon had noticed, he seemed unfazed. “Would you… like to grab coffee sometime?” he asked.

Before Barney had a chance to open his mouth to respond, Gordon nervously added, “It’s fine, you can say no, but I really enjoyed your company this afternoon and I… it’d be nice to do this again sometime, I guess is what I’m trying to say.”

Barney nodded, and his face slowly broke into a grin. “Yeah, sure, I’d—” His watch beeped again. _“Shit.”_

That alarm meant he had five minutes to get back to the main security office. He probably wasn’t going to make it. Frantically, Barney turned around and fumbled for something to write on so he could scribble down his phone number.

He very narrowly avoided knocking down one of the remaining stacks of paper as he approached Gordon, shoved a sticky note into his hand, grabbed his discarded helmet by the straps, and then rushed out the door. “I get off work an hour early on Wednesday afternoons!” he hollered over his shoulder. 

The sound of Gordon’s gentle, rumbling laughter followed him down the hallway, and even the looming threat of a lecture from his supervisor wasn’t enough to wipe the goofy grin off of his face. 


	2. August 14, 2002

“Why are you sitting like that?”

The sound of a friendly, familiar voice, predictably weary but still tinged with humor, took Barney by surprise. With a groan, he peeled his sweaty forehead off the cool surface of the cafeteria table and attempted to smooth down his hair.

He looked up to find an equally sweaty Gordon standing next to the table, still dressed in his rumpled work uniform and staring at him expectantly. Barney’s face broke into a grin and he sat up a little straighter. He wouldn’t have blamed Gordon for standing him up, given the circumstances, but he couldn’t deny that he was awfully glad to see him after such a long, miserable day.

It took his fatigued, overheated brain a couple more seconds to remember that Gordon had asked him a question. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, Doc,” he replied, finally. “‘S the best plan I’ve come up with so far to keep from dyin’ of heatstroke here.”

Gordon raised both hands in a gesture of surrender and let out a groan of his own. “It’s been over _ten hours,”_ he lamented as he collapsed into his usual chair on the opposite side of the table. “How is the entire HVAC system _still_ broken?” He took a long sip from the straw sticking out of his Styrofoam cup and propped his head up with one arm.

“Black Mesa doesn’t call in actual repair technicians until pretty much the whole security team has taken a crack at fixin’ stuff,” Barney explained with a deep, exhausted sigh. “Not sure if it’s about savin’ money or keepin’ things top secret, but there’s enough of us that they figure someone oughtta be able to bullshit their way to a solution, I guess.” 

Gordon looked absolutely appalled. “God, Barn, _why_ do you still work here?”

Without missing a beat, Barney deadpanned, “Oh, you know… The view. The people. The six-figure salary.”

His response caught Gordon off guard mid-drink, forcing him to clamp a hand over his mouth to contain his laughter. Barney shot Gordon an apologetic grin and passed him a couple of napkins from the dispenser on the table. 

The dribble of red that ran down Gordon’s chin and stained his lips suggested that he was drinking a cherry Icee or something along those lines; a smart choice, considering the current ambient temperature. An Icee was cool, of course, and sweet, and red… _very_ red…

“What on Earth possessed you to order a hot coffee when it’s nearly 100 degrees in here?” Gordon exclaimed, snapping Barney out of his trance. He tore his gaze away from Gordon’s lips and saw that his friend’s brow was deeply creased with concern. “Has your brain already been cooked inside your skull? Do you need medical attention?”

“Needed the caffeine,” Barney muttered. He slouched in his seat as his head suddenly felt heavy again. “Didn’t, uh… didn’t sleep much last night. So that plus all this shit means I’m pretty much dead on my feet.” 

Gordon’s expression softened. “Everything okay?” he asked, and Barney mentally kicked himself for letting the sleep thing slip. He should’ve known Gordon would ask follow-up questions. The guy was too goddamn sweet for his own good, sometimes. 

Barney stared intently into his half-empty coffee mug to avoid having to look Gordon in the eye and replied, “Yeah, just one of those days, I guess.”

It was a lame, vague non-explanation, but there was absolutely no way in hell he was going to admit to Gordon that he was exhausted because he’d woken up at 3:30am after a _very_ vivid sex dream—in which Gordon himself had played a starring role—and hadn’t been able to get back to sleep afterwards.

It was probably just as well, actually, that he’d spent the whole day dealing with cranky people and a busted air conditioning system, since that hadn’t left him much time or energy to dwell on the fact that if he focused hard enough, he could almost feel dream-Gordon’s hands ghosting over his body, touching him everywhere before they stopped just where he wanted them and—

“You’ve clocked out for the day, right?” real life-Gordon asked, interrupting Barney’s thoughts just a few seconds too late. “Why are you still wearing a tie?”

Barney groaned again and attempted to fan himself with a handful of floppy napkins. “There’s a chance my shift’s gonna get called back in around 6:00 to deal with the bullshit if it’s not fixed by then, and I know if I take off any part of this uniform, I’m not gonna be able to bring myself to put it back on.”

Gordon hummed sympathetically and reached for his own tie. “I know I should be a good friend and suffer in solidarity”—he sighed with relief as he loosened the knot at his neck—“but I will _literally_ burst into flames if I don’t take this thing off _right now.”_

“I get that I’m not the expert here, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how combustion works, Doc,” Barney teased. His eyes followed the movements of Gordon’s hands—his huge, soft, _ridiculously sexy_ hands—as they slowly finished undoing his tie.

“I had HEV training today,” Gordon retorted, before pausing to take another long sip of his cold drink. “I think I’ve earned the right to use as much scientifically inaccurate hyperbole as I want, and seeing as I’m off the clock, I don’t see why I shouldn’t be allowed to get rid of this _stupid_ tie…”

Barney’s mouth fell open in shock as his concern for Gordon’s safety temporarily overrode his fascination with his innocent striptease.

“They had you in the suit today? How the hell is that even legal?” He blinked a few times in disbelief. “Does AnMat have some kinda secret air conditioner I should know about?”

Gordon snorted and undid the top button of his sweat-soaked work shirt. “No, of course not… and actually, I think it was hotter in the training facility than it is out here.” He let out a wry laugh and wiped a hand across his brow. “Promise me that if I die of dehydration before this is over, you’ll leave my body in front of the Administrator’s office?”

While he waited for Barney to respond, Gordon glanced down at his chest, thought for a second, and then decisively undid two more buttons.

“Oh, God, that’s _so_ much better,” he moaned under his breath, and Barney had to force himself to blink to keep his eyeballs from popping out of his head. He picked up his mug and took a long sip of his coffee in a desperate attempt to distract himself from the heat pooling in his lower stomach.

“You seriously think I’m gonna drag your corpse all the way to Sector D? In this heat?” he joked weakly. “You’re outta your mind, Freeman.”

Gordon shrugged and flapped the loose neck of his shirt in a mostly futile effort to waft more air down his front. It didn’t take long for him to give up on that strategy, at which point he accepted defeat with a low groan, leaned back in his chair, and let his eyes fall closed.

Barney very nearly followed suit, tired as he was, before it suddenly clicked that he had been gifted an opportunity to drink in the view without making things weird.

After the briefest hesitation, he casually raised his arm so he could pretend to study his watch while he stole a few long glances at Gordon’s torso out of the corner of his eye.

Much to Barney’s excitement, Gordon’s chest looked pretty much exactly how he’d pictured it in his dream the night before. A constellation of tiny freckles was clearly visible behind the sparse auburn hair that peeked out through his open shirt, and to complete the picture, Gordon’s skin was beautifully flushed from the heat.

That single image was more than enough to send Barney’s imagination into overdrive. He could still graphically remember how his dream-self had slowly trailed kisses from Gordon’s lips to his neck to his chest, and how Gordon had shivered under his touch…

 _Oh no._ Oh, _fuck,_ this was bad. 

Barney was pretty sure he was blushing, and the unexpected flood of warmth combined with his own heat flush made him feel like he was going to melt—and not in a good way. He forced himself to abandon his fantasy before it could spiral any further out of control, glanced across the table to confirm that Gordon was still resting his eyes, and took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down.

He was well aware that entertaining these thoughts was highly inappropriate, and that he was dangerously close to crossing some invisible line and all but ensuring that Gordon would never even want to _look_ at him again, much less be his friend. He needed to remember how to compartmentalize, and fast. 

_Work friends,_ he reminded himself; they were just work friends. Nothing more, nothing less, and that was all they were ever going to be.

And that was okay. Really. Sure, Gordon was awfully cute… and brilliant… and funny, in a way that always seemed to catch him off guard, but what really mattered was that their regular coffee meetings were always the highlight of Barney’s week for totally work-appropriate, platonic reasons.

He felt like he could talk to Gordon about almost anything, and they seemed to understand and respect each other on some deep, fundamental level, despite having almost nothing in common on the surface. That connection was refreshing and exciting and meant so much more to Barney than any remote, minuscule possibility of getting into Gordon’s pants.

So, it was frustrating, to say the least, that his new dream-induced hyper-awareness of his inconvenient attraction to Gordon was making it damn near impossible _not_ to think about getting into his pants… or his shirt… or his bed…

The unexpected sound of Gordon’s soft laughter nearly startled Barney out of his skin.

“Sorry, sorry,” Gordon said, still chuckling, as he sat up and leaned against the table, “I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just… you were staring at my chest and you looked so _scandalized…”_

It took every ounce of Barney’s self-control to keep his internal panic from showing on his face.

Jesus Christ, what the hell was _wrong_ with him?

Fortunately, Gordon seemed to think the whole thing was hilarious, at least for the time being. 

“Look around, Barn. There’s almost nobody here to witness my appalling lack of professionalism,” Gordon joked, and then he thought for a moment and continued, “You know, that’s a shame, really. Perhaps this very public display of noncompliance would help convince people that I am _not,_ in fact, a hyper-realistic animatronic with a malfunctioning personality program.”

Barney cringed at the sound of Gordon’s self-deprecating laughter and found that he still couldn’t quite bring himself to look him in the eye, but for a different reason this time.

“Yes, that joke has made its way to AnMat,” Gordon confirmed when Barney didn’t respond, “and would I be correct to deduce from the look on your face that it originated in your neck of the woods?”

His tone wasn’t accusatory, but Barney still couldn’t help but feel like he’d failed him, somehow. 

He sighed and offered what he hoped came across as an appropriately apologetic expression. “Eh, we both know my esteemed colleagues weren’t exactly hired for their creativity,” he muttered. Even to his own ears, the attempt at a joke fell flat. He grimaced, let out a wry chuckle, and added, “Or their sensitivity, apparently.”

Gordon flashed a crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and feigned nonchalance with a shrug. “I know it’s not your fault,” he said, “and honestly, I’m used to it. I’ve been ‘the weird kid’ for twenty-six years now. I’ve learned how to laugh at myself.”

 _But you shouldn’t have to,_ Barney thought. _You’re better than all of them._

He acknowledged Gordon’s words with a nod, opened his mouth in preparation to share his thoughts aloud… and then closed it again.

What if that wasn’t the right thing to say? In light of everything else that was going on in his head, he didn’t feel like he could trust himself not to come on too strong and make Gordon uncomfortable.

In fact, the safest response was probably to say nothing at all.

Having made up his mind, Barney swallowed the lump in his throat, averted his gaze, and stared blankly into his coffee mug while he waited for the awkward moment to pass. He did his best to maintain an outward façade of calm, but internally, he was fuming.

His developing friendship with Gordon had given him a new perspective on the ridiculous, overblown rivalry between the science team and the security force, and his coworkers’ complete lack of boundaries when it came to criticizing the white coats was _really_ starting to wear on him.

Obviously, Gordon was amazing, and as it turned out, some of his colleagues were also pretty cool people. Dr. Kleiner was more than a little eccentric, but he always went out of his way to thank security staff for helping him with his all-too-frequent lockouts, and Dr. Vance had recently started greeting him by name when they passed in the hallways, even though they barely knew each other.

That had to count for something, right?

More than ever, Barney wished he could get his coworkers to see things from his point of view without getting himself ostracized for fraternizing with ‘the enemy.’ Nobody—least of all Gordon—deserved to be harassed at work solely for the sake of tradition.

Another minute or two passed in silence before Barney worked up the courage to look up from the table and re-initiate casual conversation.

Thankfully, Gordon didn’t seem to be harboring any negative feelings about their earlier exchange, or at least, he was able to push them aside in his excitement to share an update about the ongoing spat between Dr. Magnusson and whoever kept stealing his lunch from the break room.

Apparently, it was on the verge of escalating into an all-out war, and there was a betting pool going as to how long it would play out before HR got involved. Barney made a mental note to stop by Dr. Vance’s office to see if he could get in on the action. 

Catching up with Gordon proved to be an effective distraction from the heat, and it was _almost_ an effective distraction from Barney’s other intrusive thoughts. He allowed himself to relax a little as they chatted on about Gordon’s training, his brother John’s latest shenanigans, and the security team’s own workplace drama, but he was still _very_ careful to keep his gaze directed at Gordon’s face.

Sometime later, Barney briefly excused himself to refill his coffee. Upon his return to the table, he was greeted by the sight of Gordon casually unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and unceremoniously bunching his sleeves up to his elbows… and that was all it took for Barney’s earlier impure thoughts to come flooding back in full force. 

If someone had told him two months ago that the mere sight of someone’s _forearms_ would have him squirming in his seat like a goddamn teenager, he almost certainly would’ve laughed right in that person’s face.

But now, the sudden, dramatic reveal of more of Gordon’s pale, freckled skin, even on such an innocent body part, made Barney want to grab his wrists and caress them, or maybe even tie them up above his head and— 

“You’re making that face again.”

Barney tilted his head to meet Gordon’s eye and plastered on his best ‘who, me?’ expression. It wasn’t his strongest defense, but it would have to do in a pinch.

Gordon’s shoulders shook with gentle laughter as he brushed a strand of damp hair out of his face and straightened his glasses. “Seriously, Barn, is this stemming from some kind of religious shame from your Southern upbringing? Or has it just been so long since you’ve socialized outside of work that you’ve forgotten what arms look like?”

His tone made it clear that he was only teasing, but the offhand comment still put Barney on edge. Was this Gordon’s way of telling him he should spend more time with other friends? Had he noticed that Barney didn’t seem to date and started to read between the lines?

After a moment of brief, panicked deliberation, he decided the safest option was to play the whole thing off as a joke.

“Nah, it’s not that deep,” he replied. “Just jealous, is all. I mean, you’re practically naked over there and I’m still slowly cookin’ to death in my own clothes.”

“You’re doing this to yourself, remember?” Gordon picked up his Icee cup and loudly slurped the half-melted dregs of the drink through his straw, as if to punctuate his statement. “Eventually,” he continued, “you’re going to have to either shed some layers or throw yourself out the window and into a vat of industrial coolant on your tram ride home. Your choice.”

Before Barney had a chance to formulate an appropriately snarky comeback, Black Mesa’s PA system crackled to life and the Administrator’s smarmy, condescending voice began to pour out of a nearby speaker.

“Good evening, Black Mesa personnel. I have just been informed that our hardworking staff have finally identified the problem with the HVAC system and are currently implementing repairs. Normal functioning should resume within the next half hour. Thank you for your continued patience with this process, and please refrain from running your residential units until—”

The rest of the Administrator’s announcement was drowned out by a cacophony of cheers from the other nearby diners.

“It sounds like you’re officially off the hook for repair duty,” Gordon remarked, and that was all Barney needed to hear to start clawing at his tie.

The indescribable feeling of air—even warm, stale air—against his damp neck when he loosened the knot spurred him to keep going. Just as Gordon had done, Barney finished undoing his tie, unbuttoned the top few buttons of his uniform shirt, jammed the sleeves as far up his arms as they would go, and heaved a deep sigh of relief when he realized he could actually _breathe_ again.

Once the euphoria started to wear off, he glanced across the table to find Gordon staring straight at him with the strangest expression on his face. His lips were slightly parted, as if in shock, but his brows were knit together in confusion and Barney could almost swear his face looked a little pinker than it had earlier.

When he noticed that Barney had caught him staring, Gordon cleared his throat and reluctantly admitted, “All right, I think I get it now. Seeing you out of uniform—even though you’re still _in_ uniform, technically—is… it’s weird, okay? Not… _bad_ weird, or anything, but it’s, um… it’s different.”

For the second time that afternoon, Barney willed himself to think of an appropriate response and his mind came up completely blank.

In the interest of avoiding another awkward silence, he opted to change the subject. He could sense that their meeting was coming to close, but there was something he wanted to ask first.

“Hey, uh… how do you feel about sci-fi horror movies?”

Gordon pursed his lips and thought for a long moment before answering, “I wouldn’t say that’s my _favorite_ genre, but why do you ask? I’m intrigued.”

“So, there’s this new movie that just came out… it’s from the guy who directed The Sixth Sense, if that does anything for you, and I’ve been wantin’ to see it, but… I dunno, goin’ to the movies alone just seems like a kinda sad thing to do, so I was wonderin’ if…”

He didn’t even have to finish the invitation or name the movie before Gordon’s face broke into a grin. “Yeah, of course, I’d love to go with you,” he said. “God, I haven’t been to a movie in _so long,_ and…”

Gordon trailed off and his eyes went wide. “Oh, um, you _were_ about to invite me to go with you, right?”

Barney couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “No, I was obviously talkin’ to the other guy sitting next to you,” he joked as he gestured dramatically towards the empty chair. “So if you could tell him it’s playin’ at the topside cinema on Sunday at 7, I’d really appreciate it.”

Gordon’s answering laugh was like music to Barney’s ears. With a good-natured eyeroll, he conceded, “Fine, fine, I deserved that.”

A couple more seconds passed before Gordon spoke again. “If it starts at 7:00,” he said, suddenly serious, “we should probably meet up at 6:30 so we have time to buy popcorn and get the handjob seats.”

Barney’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, “the _what?”_

He could practically _feel_ the blood flowing away from his brain, and there was no question as to where it was being diverted.

Instead of answering Barney’s question, Gordon promptly burst into a fit of laughter so intense that for a second, he almost looked like he was going to pass out.

“I… oh my God, I’m so sorry… “ he choked out between hysterics. “That wasn’t… I didn’t mean… God, Barn, your _face…”_

Gordon took a deep breath to compose himself before finally clarifying, “You know the seats at the very top of the cinema, in the furthest back corners? That’s… that’s what my brother calls them, because, um… well, I guess you can infer from context.” He chuckled sheepishly. “I’m sorry, it’s crass, but it’s been a running joke in my family for so long that the phrase has practically been stripped of all literal meaning.”

“Ah, yeah… okay…” Barney said slowly, as he silently willed his heart rate to return to normal. “And those’re your favorite seats because…?”

“Being in the dark with a bunch of strangers makes me really anxious, so I like to sit in the top corner of the theater where I know nobody can sneak up behind me.” Gordon shrugged apologetically. “I know, it’s weird, but, um… that’s the story there, just so you know.”

Barney waved off his apology. “Nah, don’t worry, that’s not weird.” It was a _little_ weird, but it wasn’t as if Barney didn’t have some strange quirks of his own. “We can sit wherever you want. Doesn’t matter to me.”

Gordon smiled, glanced at his watch, and then suddenly moved to stand up. “Assuming the trams are still running on schedule,” he said, “mine should be here any minute now. So, are we on for 6:30 on Sunday?”

“Yep,” Barney replied. “Meet me at the theater? We’ll get there plenty early so you can scope out the, er, the seats you want.”

By the time he finished his sentence, Gordon had already made it halfway to the nearest trash can to throw away his empty Icee cup. He flashed a wide grin and thumbs-up before disappearing around the corner at a half-jog.

Barney waited at the table for a couple more minutes, just to make sure Gordon wasn’t coming back, before he downed the rest of his coffee in one huge gulp and then bolted for the nearest exit.

Miraculously, he made it to the tram platform without encountering anyone important who might have noticed his strange gait or generally disheveled appearance. In his slightly dazed, preoccupied state, he hardly even registered the change in temperature when the air conditioning system finally came roaring back on. 

Exactly fourteen minutes after boarding the tram in Sector C, Barney made it back to the safety of his dorm and proceeded to take the longest, most luxurious cold shower of his life.


	3. October 25, 2002

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for (very cute, totally non-violent) use of guns.

Barney’s stomach fluttered with anticipation and excitement as he stepped into the shooting booth and methodically uncased two rented handguns. Each step of the process felt almost as natural as breathing; muscle memory from years of training served him well, even though he wasn’t used to having an audience.

He took his time arranging his supplies to his liking before he let out a hum of satisfaction and turned around to address his companion. “Okay, Freeman, let’s see if you did your homework,” he said as he shrugged off his jacket. “Pop quiz: What’s the number one rule of gun safety?”

“Um… don’t point the gun at anything you’re not prepared to shoot?” Gordon glanced at Barney for confirmation, and his face fell when he shook his head.

“Nope,” Barney replied, “but hey, you were pretty close.” Gordon’s expression brightened at that. “I’d say that’s rule number two, actually. But rule number one is to _always_ treat a gun like it’s loaded, even if you’re pretty sure it’s not. Guns aren’t dangerous on their own, but you gotta respect ‘em so nobody gets hurt. Got it?”

Gordon nodded and met Barney’s gaze again with an almost comically serious expression. The way he was fidgeting with his earmuffs and the bulky safety goggles he wore on top of his regular glasses made him look even more like a fish out of water than he had when they’d first arrived at the range. However, his jaw was set with determination.

Barney grinned. “C’mon, Gordon, I can’t teach you anything if you’re standin’ six feet behind me,” he reminded him with a good-natured eyeroll. He held out a hand and waved Gordon over to take a closer look at the shelf in the front of the booth.

At that, Gordon’s stoic expression turned decidedly sheepish and he took a few tentative steps forward to join Barney in the booth. When he came to a stop in the empty space next to him, so close that their shoulders were almost touching, Barney had to remind himself to breathe.

The second he did, he couldn’t help but notice that Gordon smelled nice. _Really_ nice. The effect was subtle, but he could detect a hint of something new and woodsy and distinctly masculine mixed in with the familiar clean scent he’d come to associate with Gordon.

Was he wearing _cologne?_ What in the hell had possessed Gordon to wear cologne to a freaking gun range, of all places?

Not that Barney was complaining, of course, but _damn._ If he hadn’t known better, he would have assumed the guy was actively trying to torture him.

A flash of movement brought Barney back to his senses, and he glanced up to find Gordon staring at him with a quizzical look. _Right,_ he reminded himself with a sigh—he was supposed to be teaching Gordon how to shoot, not smelling him like some kind of horny bloodhound.

Without further ado, he picked up one of the unloaded handguns from the shelf in front of him and held it up where Gordon could see it, careful to keep it pointed downrange.

“So, this here’s a Glock 17,” he explained. “It’s a pretty standard semi-automatic pistol, and it’s the same kind of gun I carry when I’m on duty, so hey, I know what I’m doin’ here.” When Gordon didn’t respond, Barney reached out with one hand and gave him a reassuring slap on the shoulder. “That means you can _relax,_ Doc,” he teased gently.

Gordon slumped against the wall of the booth and sighed. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled, “I’m just… not used to feeling so out of my depth, I guess.”

Barney nodded sympathetically. He’d been friends with Gordon long enough that he could _definitely_ relate to that feeling. He also suspected that Gordon’s sudden interest in target shooting had more to do with his upcoming mandatory firearms training than any genuine enthusiasm for the activity, but regardless of Gordon’s motivation, Barney was excited to share one of his favorite hobbies with his best friend.

The fact that this bonding experience would require them to spend a considerable amount of time crammed into a tiny booth together was just a nice bonus, of course, as was the fact that they’d arrived to find the topside range almost completely empty, save for a safety officer who had made himself scarce as soon as Barney had flashed his security credentials.

“You sure you still wanna do this?” Barney asked, as he searched Gordon’s face to gauge his true comfort level with the whole situation. “No shame in backin’ out if you’re not feelin’ up to it.”

“I’m okay,” Gordon insisted. He paused to gather his resolve before continuing, “I’m going to have to learn how to do this eventually, and given the choice… I’d rather have you teach me than try to learn from the holographic training course assistant.” He hooked his thumbs into his pockets and flashed a shy smile. “I, well… I trust you.”

Barney glowed a little at that. “Happy to be of service, then.”

He turned his attention back to the shelf and picked up a box of bullets in preparation to show Gordon how to load the Glock. A couple seconds later, he was completely caught off guard by the sensation of warm, soft fingers brushing against the back of his neck.

He looked up to face Gordon, who took one look at his startled expression and simply shrugged. “Your shirt tag was sticking out,” he explained.

“Oh,” Barney replied. Another beat passed before he managed to remember his manners. “Thanks.” He did his best to ignore the heat creeping into his face as he ejected the gun’s empty magazine.

“So, first step to loading the gun is to pop this sucker out with this knob right here…”

Fortunately, explaining and demonstrating how to load and unload the Glock demanded enough of Barney’s attention that he wasn’t able to dwell on the awkwardness for long. At Gordon’s insistence, he also explained the internal mechanics of the gun and repeatedly reassured him that its lack of an on-off safety switch didn’t make it any more dangerous than any other handgun.

Gordon didn’t seem entirely convinced, but Barney figured he’d relax a bit once he’d actually gotten a feel for the firearm.

After concluding his explanation, he picked up the now-unloaded gun in order to demonstrate a proper grip and then handed it to Gordon, who took it very gingerly, as if he thought it was going to bite him.

“You’ve got the right idea, Doc,” Barney encouraged him, “but you’re gonna want to keep your finger _outside_ the trigger guard—no, not like that—and… actually, you know what…?” Barney reached forward in preparation to place his hands on top of Gordon’s. “Can I, uh…?”

Gordon nodded, and Barney made the necessary adjustments quickly, while silently thanking God that his friend seemed too flustered by the task before him to notice how sweaty his palms were.

“There ya go,” Barney said as he let go of Gordon’s hands and stepped back to give him some space. “How’s it feel?”

“I… uh, I don’t know how to answer that. Should I be feeling something right now?”

Barney grinned. “You don’t feel powerful?” he asked. _“Dangerous,_ maybe?”

“I feel like I’m going to embarrass myself and put a hole in something that’s not supposed to have a hole in it,” Gordon replied, very matter-of-factly.

“Good thing there’s nobody here but me, and for the right price, I’ll keep anything to myself,” Barney joked. “Just try not to put any extra holes in _me,_ okay?” He paused and offered another encouraging smile, which Gordon returned after a brief hesitation. “Now, c’mon, let’s work on your stance.”

Barney planted his feet shoulder-width apart, straightened his back, and held up the second handgun as if he was preparing to fire, explaining each step as he went. Throughout the whole demonstration, he could practically _feel_ Gordon’s gaze sweeping up and down his body.

That felt like progress, actually, seeing as Gordon’s earlier fixation on staring warily at the gun had probably caused him to miss out on some important information, but Barney quickly found that his overactive imagination was bound and determined to read something into how intensely Gordon was staring at him.

 _Scientists are thorough,_ he reminded himself, almost like a mantra. Gordon was like this about _everything._

Much to Barney's relief, this demonstration was a short one. “Your turn, Doc,” he declared as he set down his gun, turned on his heel, and abruptly exited the booth before he could get any more flustered. 

From his new vantage point, he couldn’t help but take a moment to appreciate how Gordon had taken his advice to wear comfortable, casual clothing to heart. Gordon’s t-shirt was so endearingly on-brand that Barney had to stifle a chuckle at the sight of the mile-long equation stamped across the back. He had no idea what it meant, but he could only assume it was the punchline of the equally indecipherable mathematical pun emblazoned across the front.

Against his better judgment, he let his gaze drop lower and was pleased to discover that Gordon’s jeans were… flattering, to say the least. _Very_ flattering.

Barney knew he was staring, and he knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He didn’t get very many opportunities to check out Gordon’s ass in anything other than his usual shapeless khakis and dress slacks, and he wasn’t inclined to pass this one up.

He’d heard rumors that HEV suits tended to be very _sculpted_ in that area, but alas, he didn’t have the security clearance to stop by the test labs and check out the view for himself. Hm, perhaps he could anonymously start a petition for the science team to bring back casual Fridays…

“How do I look?” Gordon asked, shattering the silence that had probably lasted just a _little_ too long.

 _Perfect,_ Barney thought, but what he actually said was, “You’re gettin’ there. Just… try bendin’ your knees a little bit, and…” he trailed off as he observed that none of Gordon’s individual limbs seemed to have a direct line of communication to any of his other ones. “Eh, hang on,” he sighed. “I’m comin’ in.”

Barney wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, crossed the safety line, and wrapped both arms around Gordon’s torso from behind—slowly, so as not to startle him. Gordon’s soft gasp when Barney’s hands made contact with his arms suggested that he hadn’t been entirely successful in that endeavor, but Barney was careful not to let on that he had noticed his reaction. 

It also didn’t escape his attention that Gordon was shaking slightly—presumably due to anxiety, or maybe fatigue from holding the gun out in front of him for so long—and his bare arms were so _soft,_ and dammit, he still smelled like some kind of sexy lumberjack… 

In an effort to himself from the sheer intimacy of the situation, Barney decided to go ahead and explain how to aim the gun while he made small adjustments to the positioning of Gordon’s arms and shoulders.

“You’re gonna want to aim with your dominant eye, so close the other one if that helps. Align the front sight with the rear and then line both of ‘em up with wherever you’re tryin’ to shoot so it makes a clear picture.” He stopped moving and rested his hands on Gordon’s shoulders, just for a second. “Does all that make sense?”

Gordon merely nodded, and Barney couldn’t tell whether he was being quiet because he was already practicing lining up the sights, or because he could feel Barney’s heartbeat pounding against his back.

As soon as Gordon’s right arm was properly aligned with the Glock and his other arm was more-or-less where it was supposed to be, Barney jumped away from him like he’d been burned and cleared his throat to regain his composure.

“Okay, so… take a second to memorize what that posture feels like, and then you can put the gun down when you feel like you’ve got it. Gonna help you load it and then you’ll be good to go. You ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” Gordon slowly lowered his trembling arms and set the gun back on the shelf.

Barney leaned against the wall of the booth and watched as Gordon carefully loaded the magazine, popped it back into the pistol, and racked the slide, just as he had demonstrated earlier.

When Gordon turned to him for approval, Barney offered a grin and a thumbs up. “First round’s in the chamber now, so all you gotta do is aim and pull the trigger,” he reminded him, before stepping out of the booth to give him room to settle back into his firing stance.

A few seconds later, the crack of a gunshot took Barney by surprise. He’d expected Gordon to take longer to psych himself up to pull the trigger, but apparently, he’d underestimated his resolve.

He couldn’t quite see the target from his vantage point, so he moved closer and gently placed his hand on Gordon’s back—just to announce his presence, purely for safety reasons—before stepping into the booth to get a better look down the range.

“I hit it, didn’t I?” Gordon asked, as he set the gun down and squinted at the target.

Barney leaned forward a little, just to make sure he was seeing clearly, before he nodded and confirmed, “Uh huh. ‘S not quite a bullseye, but hey, not bad at all for a first shot.” He moved his hand that had been resting on Gordon’s lower back for just a _second_ too long and clapped him on the shoulder instead.

When he turned away from the range to face Gordon directly, he found him grinning from ear to ear and bouncing slightly on his heels. His enthusiasm was infectious, and Barney instinctively mirrored his expression.

“I think I get the appeal of target shooting now,” Gordon said, still beaming. “That was… kind of fun.”

“I’m proud of you, Doc,” Barney replied with genuine sincerity, before he shifted into a lighter, more teasing tone. “But now you gotta do it again to prove it’s not just beginner’s luck.” 

Gordon accepted the challenge with a grin and confidently reached for his gun, prompting Barney to retreat back behind the safety line. This time, Gordon took longer to line up his shot, and sure enough, he managed to fire another round through the one of the inner circles on the target.

And then another. And another. And another.

Half a magazine later, Barney was seriously starting to wonder if Gordon had been screwing with him all along. Sure, the guy wasn’t going to be winning any marksmanship competitions anytime soon, and he’d missed a couple of shots entirely, but Barney figured Gordon could already give some of his security team colleagues a serious run for their money, and that was… really something. 

The next time Gordon took a break, Barney approached his booth and tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. “You _sure_ you’ve never done this before?” he asked, as Gordon whirled around to face him.

“Positive,” Gordon replied. He chuckled softly and shrugged. “It’s just physics, Barn. It’s not terribly difficult once you get the hang of it.”

Barney wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan. Of course this was all ‘just physics’ to Gordon. When he put it like that, it was no wonder he was having so much fun.

An awkward silence settled in, and then Gordon suddenly seemed to realize how unintentionally condescending his last comment had sounded. He reached out and grabbed Barney’s elbow to get his attention. “It’s _mostly_ physics,” he amended, without quite making eye contact, “but it helped that I had an amazing, very patient teacher.”

Deep down, Barney had a feeling Gordon was only humoring him, that didn’t stop his heart from swelling with warmth and pride at the compliment. That feeling only intensified when he registered that Gordon had switched to staring at him like he’d hung the moon, and he had yet to let go of his arm.

For the sake of self-preservation, Barney had gotten pretty good at avoiding unnecessary intimacy with Gordon over the last few months, but this time, he couldn’t bring himself to look away, even though he knew he probably should.

He held his breath as Gordon’s piercing green eyes searched his face—for what, he wasn’t sure—and the hand resting on his elbow tightened its grip. The whole experience felt almost surreal to Barney, and for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to wonder if maybe he wasn’t imagining the tension that he sometimes felt between them, and maybe Gordon wouldn’t mind if he reached out and touched him too…

He swallowed hard and dug his fingernails into his palms as memories from college came flooding back.

It was safer to hold back. Just in case. 

Time continued to pass in slow motion, and Barney found himself entranced by the way the corners of Gordon’s eyes crinkled as his smile widened, and the way his freckles stood out against the pink tinge that flushed his cheeks, and the way Gordon worried his lower lip between his teeth before he took a sharp breath in and—

They both froze as the sound of a slamming door abruptly broke the spell.

Gordon’s gaze dropped to the floor as his arms fell to his sides and he audibly swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue. Barney slowly unclenched his fists and attempted to mask his disappointment by plastering on the most neutral expression he could muster.

They had company. A _lot_ of company, judging by the volume of the rapidly approaching chatter. In fact, Barney was pretty sure he recognized some of the intruders’ voices, and that realization spurred him into action.

The _last_ thing he needed—the last thing _either_ of them needed—was for someone from security to catch them having some kind of… whatever the hell that was… and start spreading rumors.

Barney cleared his throat, reached for the extra handgun resting on the edge of the shelf, and prepared to make a break for it. “Well, looks like you’re doin’ okay over here,” he said, “so if you don’t mind, I’m gonna…” He jerked his thumb towards the next empty booth.

Gordon glanced around nervously for a couple of seconds before he nodded, reluctantly giving Barney permission to leave him to his own devices.

“Hey, c’mon, I’m not goin’ far,” Barney reassured him, carefully keeping his tone light. “I’ll still be right here if you need me.” Without waiting for a response, he grabbed the butt of the gun and darted around the corner. 

As Barney settled in and loaded his own pistol in the next booth over, he couldn’t resist the urge to sneak a few glances at Gordon through the plexiglass divider between them.

Gordon’s earlier uncertainty appeared to have been short-lived, as it didn’t take him long to resume shooting. His concentration face was absolutely adorable; he bit his lip and furrowed his brow every time he moved to line up a shot, just like he did when he got absorbed in his lab work, and his unwavering grin told Barney he was still enjoying himself.

It also suggested that Gordon had been relatively unfazed by whatever had just happened between them, and Barney couldn’t decide how he felt about that. Relieved? Jealous? Hurt?

He cringed when his own first couple of shots just barely clipped the outer rings of his target. When he stole another glance at Gordon out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Gordon was already doing the same to him, clearly curious as to what the hell his problem was but far too polite to ask.

 _You and me both, Doc,_ he wanted to joke, but that was a lie.

He knew _damn well_ why he suddenly had the aim of a fucking stormtrooper, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to make the whole situation even _more_ awkward by trying to explain himself. Barney grit his teeth and silently willed his heart rate to slow down and his hands to stop trembling.

Once he finally managed to relax into his own practiced shooting routine to a point where he could reliably hit the target, Barney forced himself to pay Gordon less mind so he could clear his own head. The guy was a fast learner who was doing just fine on his own, he reasoned, and besides, the cacophony of chatter and gunfire from the other shooters would drown out most of their attempts at communication, anyway.

If Gordon felt the weight of the near silence between them, he never let on.

They each went through a couple more magazines before they locked eyes through the divider and came to an unspoken agreement that it was time to pack it in. As they reeled in their targets, Barney was struck once again by how good a shot Gordon was, especially for a rank beginner with coke-bottle glasses and a lifelong aversion to guns. 

He expressed as much to Gordon, whose predictably flustered response only encouraged Barney to continue showering him with compliments while they packed up their gear and made their way back to the lobby. It wasn’t exactly the most subtle tactic to defuse any lingering tension, but it seemed to be working.

“Seriously, Doc, you’re a natural!” Barney punctuated his praise with another enthusiastic shoulder slap and added, “You oughtta come to the range with me more often. Keep this up, and it won’t be long before you’re the one givin’ _me_ pointers.”

“I’m, uh… that’s very flattering,” Gordon stammered, “but… you know I’m never going to need to use this skill outside of mandatory work trainings, right?”

Barney jogged ahead of Gordon to open the door for him, turned around, and shrugged. “Hey, you never know. Feels like Bush could launch us into fuckin’ World War Three any day now, and even if that doesn’t happen, who knows? Maybe you’ll have an early midlife crisis and leave theoretical physics behind to pursue your true calling as a professional sharpshooter, or hell, I dunno…”

“Or maybe aliens will invade?” Gordon supplied with a smirk.

Barney let out an exaggerated groan and rolled his eyes. “Oh, so we’re doin’ _this_ again, huh?”

He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that a guy who had devoted his entire professional life to bogus sounding sci-fi concepts like fucking _teleportation_ categorically refused to put any stock in his theories about the existence of extraterrestrial life.

In the interest of not making things awkward again, Barney decided not to get on his soapbox, for once. However, that didn’t mean he was going to let Gordon get the last word in that easily.

“Look, all I’m sayin’ is, we’ll see who gets the last laugh on that one when the UFOs start landing.” Gordon made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort disguised as a cough and Barney rolled his eyes again. “It’s gonna happen in our lifetime,” he reiterated. “I’m callin’ it.”

“Whatever you say, Barn.”

With a sigh, Barney let the subject drop and gestured for Gordon to stay in the lounge area while he went to return their rented guns and protective gear. He returned from that errand to find Gordon perched on the edge of a chair, idly flipping through a back-issue of _Guns & Ammo _with a faraway look on his face.

“Hey, so, you survived the big scary gun range. Feels like we oughtta celebrate,” Barney declared as he approached. “You still wanna go get tacos?”

Gordon set down the magazine, checked his watch, and sighed. “You know the line at Tesla’s is going to be wrapped halfway around the facility at this hour, right?”

Barney’s heart sank. Gordon was probably right, but it wasn’t as if the long line had ever stopped them from getting tacos on a Friday night before. He could read between the lines, and he knew a polite rejection when he heard one.

There was a long pause, and then Gordon hesitantly added, “But… I’m sure there’s something decent on TV tonight, and we never ate that frozen pizza I bought for game night last week. So, if you want to, we could, um…” He stood up and hooked his thumbs into his pockets. “We could hang out and have dinner at my place.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Barney replied, perhaps a little too quickly. “Sounds good to me.” He mirrored Gordon’s posture and tried not to look as relieved as he felt. Maybe things could still be normal; maybe there was hope.

Gordon smiled and gestured towards the exit. “So, should we, uh…?”

“Uh huh. Yep.” Barney slipped on his jacket and took off towards the door, trusting that Gordon wouldn’t be far behind.

The surface temperature had dropped about twenty degrees in the time they’d been inside, and Barney was grateful for the cool, crisp evening air as they made their way to the nearest tram platform. Hanging around topside was brutal during the day for most of the year, but in the fall, it wasn’t too bad. It was nice, even.

He turned towards Gordon, in preparation to share that thought out loud, and found that his friend was shivering in just a t-shirt. He was clearly trying to hide it, but the goosebumps on his arms gave him away.

Normally, Barney wouldn’t have thought twice before giving Gordon ‘Hardy Northerner Who Doesn’t Need a Jacket’ Freeman a world of shit for shivering when it was still well above freezing, but for some reason, he simply didn’t have it in him this time. 

Instead of cracking a joke, he slipped off his jacket and silently offered it to Gordon, careful to avoid making eye contact. He was well aware of how this innocent gesture could be misconstrued, but fuck it, he wasn’t going to let the poor guy freeze his ass off.

That would be a tragedy, indeed.

Gordon hesitated only briefly before taking the jacket with a sheepish grin and offering a soft “thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Barney replied.

Much to their shared relief, they didn’t have to wait long to board a red line tram bound for the Level 3 Dormitories. Shortly after he sat down on the nearest hard, unforgiving tram bench, Gordon mumbled something about having a minor headache from the noise at the range, rested his head against the window, and closed his eyes.

Barney, meanwhile, spent the majority of the ride lost in his thoughts while staring at their reflections in the opposite window.

He had to admit to himself that he _really_ liked seeing Gordon in his Black Mesa Security hoodie. The slightly oversized jacket made Gordon look even younger, somehow, and there was also something undeniably amusing about the image of a scientist wearing security-branded clothing in public… especially when that scientist was also wearing a dorky math t-shirt and dozing with his mouth open on the tram.

It was a real shame, Barney thought, that he couldn’t take a picture to keep this image fresh in his mind forever. Sleepy Gordon was so goddamn _cute_ that it was almost infuriating.

The walk to Gordon’s dorm from the Level 3 tram stop was quiet, but not unpleasant. Barney figured Gordon was still groggy from his mini-nap and decided not to push him to talk, even though the absence of their usual banter put him a little on edge.

As soon as Gordon unlocked the front door and waved him inside, Barney made a beeline for the couch to claim his usual spot. He flopped down on the far side that had the best view of the television and reached for the TV Guide on the coffee table. 

“Looks like Jurassic Park comes on in about… half an hour,” he remarked, after a moment. A split second later, he realized he was looking at the previous night’s schedule, flipped the page, and groaned. “Wait, shit, they’re airin’ the sequel tonight. The one where the chaos theory guy has to go rescue his girlfriend or whatever.”

When Gordon didn’t respond, Barney glanced up from his lap and discovered that he was hovering beside the other end of the couch with a distinctly troubled look on his face. He was still wearing Barney’s jacket, and his hands were shoved deep into the pockets.

They locked eyes, and before Barney had a chance to try to lighten the mood, Gordon blurted, “Barn, we need to talk.”

Barney’s stomach dropped and his blood ran cold. This was it—the confrontation he’d been dreading. He was sure of it. His internal panic only mounted when Gordon lowered himself down on the other end of the couch, blocking his only clear route to the door. 

“We do?” Barney croaked out, just to stall for time. “About what?”

Gordon fixed him with a pointed stare and tersely confirmed his worst fears. “About what happened earlier. At the range.”

At that, Barney’s brain switched into autopilot. All he could seem to do was chuckle nervously and continue to feign ignorance. “Look, if you’re worried about me holdin’ a grudge over you not giving me credit for teachin’ you how to handle a gun or bein’ a dick about aliens or whatever, it’s fine. You don’t gotta apologize. We were just jokin’ around, right?”

Gordon let out a deep sigh, leaned forward, and rested his head in his hands. “You _know_ that’s not what I’m talking about,” he mumbled.

Barney wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Previous experiences had primed him to expect anger, or disgust, or maybe disappointment, but Gordon just sounded… defeated. Barney sat frozen, eyes darting between Gordon and the door and the coffee table blocking his most viable escape route and then back to Gordon as his fight or flight instincts waged war in his head.

Before he had a chance to make up his mind, Gordon spoke again. “Please don’t make this any harder than it has to be,” he whispered. “I… I didn’t mean for… this isn’t how this was supposed to…” He sighed again. “It doesn’t matter, I guess. I just… I feel like I need to get something off my chest, now that…”

Gordon’s next couple of sentences were too muffled for Barney to make out. “… didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable and I understand if you don’t feel the same way but it’s not…” Gordon finally looked up from his lap, and he looked every bit as scared and anxious and tentatively hopeful as Barney felt.

“C’mon, Doc,” Barney said softly, with his heart in his throat. “Out with it. What’re you tryin’ to tell me, exactly?”

Gordon took a deep breath. “I know we’ve been spending a lot of time together lately, and I… I enjoy hanging out with you. A lot.” He swallowed hard. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, you know? I’m not sure if I’ve ever actually told you that.”

A ghost of a smile flashed across Gordon’s features, but at the same time, his expression reminded Barney of a deer facing down an eighteen-wheeler.

“But… something’s felt different lately,” he continued. “Between us, I mean. And I’ve been trying to figure out how to bring it up for a while, but it never really felt _right_ until… earlier, but that was obviously the wrong time, and… I don’t know, maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but tonight almost felt like…”

“Like a date?” Barney supplied. He held his breath and watched as Gordon froze, blinked a couple of times, and then nodded, almost imperceptibly.

In an instant, a flood of relief washed over Barney’s body, leaving him with an almost irresistible urge to smile, to burst into giddy laughter, to scoot to the other end of the couch and give Gordon a bone-crushing hug...

But first, he needed confirmation. He needed to be _absolutely certain_ that they were on the same page before he dropped his guard.

“Do you want it to be a date?” he asked, careful to keep his tone as neutral and nonthreatening as possible.

Gordon nodded again, more confidently this time.

Barney’s face broke into a grin and he let out the breath he had been holding. “Yeah, okay… me too,” he confessed, and all the tension seemed to melt from Gordon’s body at once.

He collapsed against the couch cushions as a thousand emotions played across his face, before he settled on a beaming smile that Barney imagined matched his own. They stared at each other for another couple of long, heavy seconds before they both started trying to talk at once.

“How long have you—”

“Have we been—"

They both stopped and gestured for the other to speak first, and that was all it took for them to burst into laughter at the sheer _absurdity_ of the situation.

“Oh, God… we’re a couple’a idiots, aren’t we?” Barney groaned, as soon as he caught his breath. In retrospect, it was almost painfully obvious that they’d practically been dating for _weeks_ already. Why hadn’t he worked up the courage to say something sooner?

Gordon grinned sheepishly and hummed in agreement. “To be honest,” he admitted, “Dr. Kleiner has been on my case about, erm, _us_ for a while now, but I just wasn’t sure if…” At the sight of Barney’s horrified expression, Gordon abandoned his earlier train of thought and rushed to reassure him, “Don’t worry, it’s okay. Dr. Kleiner is… well, we can trust him. He won’t say anything, I promise.”

Barney let out a long, deep sigh as he processed this new information. “All right then,” he said, after a beat. “Guess that explains why Kleiner’s always askin’ if me and you have plans after work, huh?”

“He can be nosy sometimes, but he means well,” Gordon confirmed with a nod, “and he really likes you. And us. Together, I mean.”

As if learning that Gordon actually reciprocated his feelings hadn’t been enough of a shock, Barney found himself nearly blinking back tears at the revelation that one of the most important people in Gordon’s life also _knew,_ and he supported them. For the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he could be safe here, in this underground hellhole in the middle of nowhere, with the sweetest man he’d ever had the pleasure to know.

Gordon had already taken one for the team. Now, he decided, it was his turn to be bold.

He slid over to the far end of the couch and came to a stop with his face just inches from Gordon’s. “Hey,” he murmured, as he reached for Gordon’s closest hand and intertwined their fingers, “seein’ as we’re in agreement that we just had our first date… would you mind if I kissed you now?”

Gordon shook his head and blushed a beautiful shade of pink, and that was all the encouragement Barney needed. He leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to Gordon’s, just like he’d imagined doing a thousand times before.

The kiss was soft and tentative at first, but it grew deeper and more insistent as they were both steadily consumed by an urgent need to make up for lost time.

Barney slipped his free arm inside Gordon’s jacket—well, _his_ jacket, technically—and wrapped it around his waist to pull him in closer. Gordon unclasped their hands in order to ghost both of his along Barney’s back and sides, clearly unsure as to where to put them, before he reached up to cup the back of his head and let his other hand come to rest on his shoulder.

When they finally came up for air, Barney maintained his grip on Gordon’s waist and tucked his head into the crook of his neck, eager to savor the feeling of simply being close to him after months spent surviving on stolen glances and casual touches. Gordon sighed contentedly and began to card his fingers through Barney’s hair, sending pleasant shivers up and down his spine.

“So, where to from here?” Barney asked after a long moment, his voice thick with emotion despite his best efforts to sound casual.

Gordon’s hand stilled, and he paused to gather his thoughts before firmly declaring, “The second Jurassic Park movie really isn’t all that great, even by sequel standards.”

His response caught Barney completely off guard, and a couple seconds passed before it hit him—oh, right, _that_ was how they’d gotten here in the first place. That conversation already felt like it had taken place in a different lifetime.

Barney sat up to look Gordon in the eye and found himself face to face with his friend’s—boyfriend’s?—signature mischievous smirk. “I knew I liked you for a reason, Doc,” he replied with a matching grin. _God,_ it felt amazing to say that out loud.

All thoughts of bad sequels and frozen pizzas and silly misunderstandings melted away the second Gordon pulled him into his lap and captured his lips in another long-overdue kiss. _Dinner can wait,_ Barney thought as he raked his fingers through Gordon's hair and lightly nibbled his lower lip. _I could get used to this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead! I wasn't expecting to go this long between updates, but a combination of family stuff, work stuff, and exhausting internet nonsense cropped up and kept me from writing for a few weeks. Thanks so much for your patience and for all the encouraging reviews and messages. <3 
> 
> On a related note, I’m only going to say this once: No clowning on or with this fic. I fully intend to keep writing it because it makes me happy, but that doesn’t mean I have to keep posting updates publicly. Don't make me regret posting this. 
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy this accidentally very long chapter and please let me know if any of the gun stuff is noticeably inaccurate. I did enough research for this that I'm probably on multiple government watchlists now, but I'm sure I still missed something.
> 
> **Update (7/4/2020): I'm placing this story on indefinite hiatus. Believe me, I have not made this decision lightly, but recent events have completely sapped my interest in writing for this fandom and this ship in particular. Which sucks, because I _love_ freehoun, but a vocal minority of (predominately) freehoun shippers has swooped in with some unfounded, harmful, and truly garbage opinions about other fans and ships that have left a terrible taste in my mouth and made me wary of creating content that will appeal to these people.**
> 
> **Thank you again to everyone who has commented and supported me behind the scenes; I know most of you aren't to blame for this and I love y'all, but I just don't feel comfortable writing for this ship anymore due to the current fandom climate. I'm hoping this will pass and I'll be able to get back to writing, but I want to be upfront about why this story died in case that never happens.**
> 
> **If you're reading this and you've been harassing people over ships in a previously peaceful fandom for absolutely no reason, you are the problem and I hope you're able to take a step back and realize the harm you're doing by making so many people's comfort fandom an unsafe space. Misusing loaded buzzwords for fandom clout is not a good look and it hurts the real people behind some of your favorite fanworks. (And if you're reading this and have no idea what I'm talking about, count yourself lucky and for the love of all that is good and holy, _stay out of fandom spaces on social media.)_ My inbox on Tumblr (angels-heap) is always open if anyone needs a space to vent/process.**

**Author's Note:**

> This content has been brought to you by Real Freehoun Hours After Dark on Discord and a hefty dose of procrastination. Thank you to Ash (heytheremisterblue) and Sydeon and all other periodic contributors to Real Freehoun Hours for letting me borrow your ideas!


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